Load up thy woman and dispense with silly Fopp bags   Leave a comment

You know what I hate? Well lots of stuff really, but I really hate seeing male persons who look to be about thirty-odd (or worse – male persons who look to be about thirty-odd but are in fact in their twenties) wandering hither and thither about town of a Saturday in their fur-fringed wanker coats (available in high-street shops) clutching little bags from Fopp, like the tides of wage slavery have washed them up to the weekend and they don’t even know what the bloody hell to do with it. I won’t list the hundreds of reasons why these blokes annoy me because they’re all obvious, but I think that they should all fuck off and get girls pregnant. Any one will do.

Anyway I racked up a huge load of childcare points because Sam’s poor gran died weighing four stone, which sounds like it’s a South-Western custom to weigh you at both ends of your life, as though that gives some meaning to it, and so I went to that LEAPS thing at Kettle’s Yard. It were real classy, exclusively middle, very Cambridge. I felt really nervous just being in the audience cos it’s like the dread theatre, or something. I’d have shook with fear to perform, but I was still jealous. I thought about it, but the theme of turn-of-the-last-century would have just had me looping machinery and that’s clapped out. I mostly didn’t envy Phil either, because he’d done a wild rock gig in London and a wild Arabic dope party and had no sleep and then he had to wear a modernist suit and do astral tone clusters whilst that Guy geezer played grand piano, and in front of his wife and kid and loads of posh people and their posh kids (all strikingly well-behaved). Anyway it was a good gig and I wished I’d taken my camera instead of standing in the hallway thinking “shall I…?” because then I would have got some footage of Cos on the turntables (doing actual turntablism) that I could have digitally manipulated and shown at the next LEAPS event instead of looping machinery or whatever. Next to me was some sexless old buffer (who got everyone to shift up one) and her silent hubby, and though you could tell she was utterly emotionally unengaged for the entire thing (like being in church or eating an oat biscuit) and Phil’s precise wafting of historical matter might have just as well come from Uranus for all she knew. When Cos’s radio piece threw up a tiny snatch of “Tea For Two” she started patting her knee and I felt a rush of real nausea.

At the end Martin Green slips up to me and starts being really nice about my music, which was so touching (because I was feeling like a timid ghost that no-one had even noticed) that I started to feel hot and stammer nonsense and then I noticed that a whole clump of strangers were looking at me and I thought, hang on, this is just getting silly and then I realized they wanted me to get out of the way because they were trying to show slides.
Roopak Gupta and his assistant were standing outside handing out CD flyers (interactive audio/video text ‘n’ graffix) for The Sandpaper Sessions next Saturday. He’s obviously spent the bands wages already but I don’t really mind because it’s nice to see someone trying to make a splash, y’know?
And then on the way back I popped into Fopp and bought a book of essays on Charles Bukowski. When I’ve got through my Sun Ra book (prepare yourself for a new SPACE song, featuring PHIL FROM FLORIDA) and my (oh, actually this belongs to Adam “Spunk” Teasdale) Harry Smith biography I’ll get stuck into that.

Right, I’m just about to do a mailout about The Sandpaper Sessions and the Spontaneous Leap Year gig in Hitchin, so if you don’t receive that then you know you are no longer on my mailing list (because I’ve lost your address due to PC voodoo) and you can firmly grip your wife’s hand and weep at the relief.

Posted February 23, 2004 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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